


Homecoming

by Luthorchickv2



Series: Found Families [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014), Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Brief discussion of not serious dub con see end note, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Spoilers for Series, Threesome - F/M/M, Wibbly Wobbly Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:37:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/pseuds/Luthorchickv2
Summary: After 10 years of Court and work on behalf of King Aramis realizes how isolated he is now that Anne is Queen Regent and how long it has been since he's seen his friends.  He decides to take a leave of absence in order to find himself again.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this except I started and didn’t stop until I was done. This was inspired by a Tumblr post exploring a possible crossover with Versailles. I didn’t get a response from the creator of the post about linking back to the post so I won’t but basically this takes place a decade or so after The Musketeers so spoilers. This is the beginning of a series that will be Philippe/Chevalier with Aramis and Porthos as Philippe’s de facto parents, or actual, in Aramis’ case. Also, the Athos/Constance/D'artagnan piece came out of nowhere and wouldn't leave me alone. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Comments are treasured. 
> 
> The Musketeers messed around with the historical timeline so badly I can’t reconcile it with history so this takes place in some time after the end of the Musketeers but before the Frond. King Louis XIV is 10 and Philippe, Duke of Anjou is 8.

For Aramis, when the end comes he almost doesn’t notice it. He hasn’t warmed the Queen’s bed in years and hasn’t even noticed until he sees Cardinal Mazarin letting himself out of her chambers in the dark of the morning. He, himself has been up late doing paperwork and has been forced out of his office by his assistant and had been making his way through the back passages to get back to his rooms when he sees Mazarin out of the corner of his eye and hides. 

Not that long along it would have been him sneaking out of her rooms. He’s surprised to find that he can’t remember the last time he’s been with Anne, which is funny given how many years they spent desperate for each other. But they’ve changed as they’ve aged. Being respectable and first minister, and also a father not matter how secret that information is, has tamed Aramis. His wildness now expresses itself in diplomacy and winning negotiations rather than a battlefield. 

Anne has changed as well, becoming obsessed with power and keeping Louis safe. She’s become cold and ruthless and Aramis realizes that he doesn’t recognize her anymore. He spends more time then he would care too talking her out of schemes to grab power and watching as she grooms Louis. He has very little contact with his son and can’t stop her from twisting him. He loves his son but she has turned him into a spoiled brat and some days Aramis doesn’t like him all that much. He doesn’t know for sure that Phillippe is his son, Anne won’t say and she has isolated the little boy from court. She almost entirely ignores Philippe except to dress him in girls clothing, diminishing him in the eyes of the court. Aramis had fought with her on it but she had won. He will always love her, she is the mother of his son but they will never again be what they were. 

He mourns a little as he watches Mazarin sneak away, less for the loss of Anne herself and more so because he realizes he is alone and that the life that he has built for himself is empty. Yes, he has assistants and courtiers all jockeying for his favor but there is no one else. He can’t remember the last time he saw his brothers in arms for more than a few minutes. Porthos has been tasked with Philippe’s protection and lives out in Saint Germaine with the Prince. Aramis thinks he saw Porthos recently but can’t remember. And that is a little painful. Time was were he and Porthos had lived in each others pockets. They had even been lovers for a time. There hadn’t been a formal end to their affair, it had just faded and their friendship had remained strong. 

Athos is retired and living peacefully in the outskirts of Paris, in a large house and lands gifted to him by the Queen Regent for all his years of exemplary service. He won’t ever go back to the Le Fere lands no matter how much time has passed and how much he has healed from the scars Milady left on him. He breeds and trains horses that get sold to the Musketeers regiment, not because of his connections to the regiment but because they are honestly the best horses for soldiers. He isn’t alone out in his lands. He rents part of his house out to D’artagnan and Constance and their children. D’artagnan and Constance had been looking for a larger house when she was carrying their second child when Athos offered. He explained to Aramis that it worked for both parties. He wouldn’t be rattling around the house by himself and Constance had help and company when D’artagnan’s work with the Musketeers took him out of town. Aramis strongly suspected that only one bed was used for the adults but kept that thought to himself. No matter what the arrangements it had been clear last time he saw them that the three of them were thriving. 

Leaning against the wall, in a back passage Aramis is struck with a sudden urge to see them, all of them. He’s just finished a trade agreement with Milan and straightened out a disagreement between Gaston, the King’s Uncle and the other nobles. He has been working nonstop for years, surely no one would be grudge him some time away?

He nods, mind made up, and when he is sure the coast is clear, heads back to his office to write a couple of letters and put things in order for his absence. 

His meeting with the Queen to discuss a leave of absence is short and to the point and underlines for Aramis how much their affair is really over. She agrees without question, tells him to take all the time he needs and dismisses him. There is no emotion from her, nothing. He is just another minister. 

He bows, and while he feels sadness mostly he feels freedom. He summons D’artagnan to his office in the afternoon and is organizing himself when the younger man knocks on his door. 

He looks up and is struck by D’artagnan’s appearance. In his mind they are all as they were when they first met, D’artagnan is the rangy farm boy with floppy hair and limbs that only seem to behave themselves when fighting. But over a decade has passed and D’artagnan is firmly a man, with lines on his face, stocky with muscle and a slight peppering of grey by his temples. He was always beautiful but now he is weathered and handsome and Aramis is almost jealous of Constance and Athos. 

“What’s this I hear about you taking leave? Aramis, the great first minster, taking a break? Are you ill?” D’artagnan teases as he sits in a chair in front of Aramis’s desk. It’s another sign of maturity, Aramis can remember a time when D’artagnan would have flopped into it. 

Aramis leans back. “I am in perfect health, thank you! Anything else is scandalous rumor.”

D’artagnan rolls his eyes. “My friend, you have been chained to this desk since taking this position. It’s hard to drag you out for drinks. Forgive me for assuming the worst.”

“I’m fine, truely. I just realized that I have, in fact, been chained to this desk and wish to enjoy the country air and the company of my friends once more.” He picks up a letter and hands it to D’artagnan. 

“I hate to use you as a messenger but do you think you can carry with you when you return home? It’s for Athos.”

“Of course, my friend. I’ll be happy too but if it’s what I think it is, you don’t need an invitation to come and stay with us. You are family. The children would love to get to know Uncle Aramis.”

Aramis has the unpleasant realization that he doesn’t actually know how many children D’artagnan and Constance have. His life has been so wrapped up in the Queen and Louis and court that he has completely disappeared from his brothers’ lives. 

D’artagnan smiles softly at him. “No one is angry with you. We know you have been busy. I’m just glad you surfaced. Any longer and I think Athos would have feigned a heart attack.”

Aramis sat up with alarm. “Is something wrong? Is he in poor health?”

“Peace, Aramis. He’s fine, grouchy and achy but fine. We just miss you, is all.” D’artagnan soothes. 

Aramis slumps. “You know I realized last night that I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him? Or you for something other than work? Or know how many children you have, now? I have been so wrapped up here I’ve forgotten what it means to be me.”

D’artagnan stands and clasps Aramis’ shoulder. “Well, we look forward to reminding you. We have 4 children split evenly, two boys and two girls. I’ll bring you Athos response tomorrow but I already know what it will say. Pack your old leathers my friend, if you can still fit into them. You have grown a little soft.”

Aramis can not let that slur to his honor go unacknowledged. He practices swordplay every day, well almost, when he has time. “I’ll show you soft, you little ingrate.” he snarls and lounges across the desk. D’artagnan dances out of the way, laughing as he makes his way to the door. 

“I look forward to you proving that in the lists. See you tomorrow, my friend.” He waves and saunters down the hall. 

“Bloody impertinent Gascon.” Aramis growls but he was smiling and already feels a lightning in his heart. 

D’artagnan drops off Athos’ reply the next morning and Aramis smiles seeing Athos’ elegant script. 

“Aramis,  
You unmitigated horse’s ass. If you aren’t here by tonight I will come to Paris and carry you here myself.”

 

“You weren’t kidding about the grouchiness. Apparently, I am expected tonight.”

D’artagnan nods. “I’m to escort you. I’ll meet you at the Musketeer’s barracks after I dispense evening orders?”

Aramis smiles, already making plans to visit the market. Children like gifts and he isn’t above bribing them. “Very well.”

That afternoon Aramis pulls out his old saddle bags and the leathers he had worn as a soldier. He has worn the silk garb of the court for over a decade and while he loves it there is something reassuring about sliding back into his leathers, which do still fit, thank you, D’artagnan. 

He rides away from the palace on his horse, pack horse behind him. He has gifts for the children, bolts of silk for constance, and brandy for Athos. D’artagnan raises an eye at the extra animal when Aramis rides into the courtyard. “Moving in, are we? I’m not saying no, by the way.” He adds, quickly. 

Aramis shakes his head. “I have gifts for everyone, and after I leave you I go to Saint Germain to see Porthos.”

D’artagnan nods, knowingly. Louis parentage is an unspoken secret between them. His brothers have never asked about Philippe which is good because Aramis doesn’t know how to answer. 

 

They ride out of the city together and for a moment it could be a decade earlier. The Aramis’ back twinges and he is in the present, a middle aged court minister. The ride is short and Aramis feels more guilt. It is just over an hour by horseback to Athos’s property, L’Abri, and Aaramis has absolutely no excuse for not visiting in as long as he had.

“We could have visited too.” D’artagnan reads the guilt on Aramis’ face. “But life gets in the way, you know? Besides you are here now, for a nice long visit.”

Aramis smiles. “Indeed.” He says as they canter down the lane. All around he can see Atho’s hand in the development of the land. Athos had named his new property L’Abri, shelter, and he has found it. Fat herds of fluffy sheep dot the landscape and vineyards with plump purple grapes line the lane. Aranis marveled at what Athos had built. 

Athos’ new house was nothing like Le Fere. Where his family’s house had been a large sprawling gothic affair this is a modern house of only three stories. D’artagnan explains that Athos had designed it to his own specifications and with the idea to have as few servants as possible. There are 6 bedrooms and no servants quarters, the servants living in cottages on the estate. All of their servants had come from La Fere, most having served Athos’s family for decades until Milady had released them all. They had a cook, Marie who could tell the best stories of “the young master” as she still called Athos, a groundskeeper, Marie’s husband Claude and their daughter, Catherine, helped around the house and with the children. Their sons, Thierry and Jacques helped Athos with the horses. All were incredible loyal to Athos, and now to D’artagnan and Constance and their children. 

Aramis and D’Artagnan are almost to the door when it bursts open and two children come spilling out. Both of the children are dark like D’artagnan though the oldest, a girl, has Constance’s bright red hair. The younger is D’artagnan in miniature. 

“Papa!” They shout, running towards them.

“Stop!” Constance says firmly from the door where she is standing holding a bundled baby, with a toddler grabbing her leg. She has aged gracefully and is only more beautiful, glowing with contentment. 

“What are the rules around horses?” She continues. 

The children have halted and are looking at the ground bashfully. 

“Don’t shout or run near the horses. It can scare them and they might hurt us by accident.” The girl parrots. Clearly this is a lecture she had heard many times before. 

“That’s right.” Constance nods approvingly. 

“But Papa is bringing our new Uncle from Paris!” The girl exclaims. 

Constance shakes her head. “That is no excuse, Alaria.” 

The girl looks down. 

“Yes Maman, sorry Maman.”

D’artagnan and Aramis have reached where the children are standing and D’artagnan throws himself off of his horse to scoop them up. 

“I was excited to present my loving well behaved children to Uncle Aramis but I guess I have to settle for you two beasts.” He says, kissing them. Aramis can feel the love his brother has for his children and feels bitter for just a second that he can not be as public in his affection with his. He slides off his horse and uses that moment to clear his heart of bitterness. 

He is smiling when he turns around, ready to meet D’artagnan’s family. 

“Aramis! It’s been so long. I’ve missed you” Constance says with joy and embraces him, baby passed to her husband, who is nuzzling the bundle. 

“Constance, you are more beautiful then I remember. It’s a good thing you do not attend court for the Queen would burn with jealousy.” He hugs her and tries not to think about how long it has been since the last time he was hugged. 

“You, sir, have lost none of your charm. I know you lie and yet I blush like a maid.” She is blushing a little as she releases him. D’artagnan rolls his eyes and gestures to his children.

“Children, this is your Uncle Aramis, remember, we’ve told you stories about him. Aramis, may I present my children. This is my oldest, Alaria. She is 5 and would live on horseback if she could.”

Aramis bends down so he is closer to eye level. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alaria.” She peers up at him with D’artagnan’s rich brown eyes and he is in love. 

“Next is Alexandre. He’s just 4 and can’t stop moving.”

Aramis shakes the little boy’s hand. “You have quite a firm grip there. You’ll be a fine musketeer one day.” The little boy giggles and hides a little behind his sister. 

Next is the little toddler who clung to Constance. She is another girl and while she is fair like Constance, her eyes and hair are dark like D’artangan. She’s now clinging to her father’s leg and hiding her face. 

“This is Amelie, our youngest daughter. She’s a little shy but will warm up to you. She loves being read to and I told her you would be happy to read to her.”

“I love reading and would be happy to.” Aramis says in her direction and stands, ready to see the baby.

D’artagnan and Constance look at each other quickly before D’artagnan shifts the bundle so Armis can see. “This is our youngest son, Olivier.”

And Aramis is surprised by how not surprised he is to see that the baby is staring back at him with Athos’ clear blue eyes with Atho’s features and a tuft of red hair. The baby’s name is only further confirmation. 

“He’s beautiful.” He says, knowing that they are waiting for his reaction. He smiles at them and offers a finger to the baby to grab. And he is, they all are and Aramis burns for a family of his own. 

He hears someone approaching and starts to turn, but before he can, D’artagnan leans in and whispers quietly. “Don’t mention the cane. We have a hard enough time getting him to use it.”

Aramis may have over 10 years of court polish but he has never quite grown out of being a shit. So the first thing he says when he turns around and sees Athos for the first time in years is “You got old, and went lame? When are they putting you out to pasture?” Out of the corner of his eye he sees D’artagnan cover his face with his hand and Constance herding the children away. 

Athos narrows his eyes and holds up the cane like a sword. A quick flick of his wrist and a blade pops out of the end. 

“Old and lame I can still chase a court softened minister around the training field.” He growls. 

Out of all of them Athos shows his age the most. His dark hair, which hangs down below his shoulders now, is more grey than dark and his frame, always thin is now almost gaunt. Years of drinking have left his cheeks ruddy but the lines on his face now come from laughter, Aramis thinks. 

Aramis is so overcome with familiar love for this man that he can’t tease any longer. “It is so good to see you, my friend.” He says, laughing and bats the cane away to take the older man into his arms. 

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you until just now.” He says, gripping Athos tight. The arms around him are equally tight and they stand there for a moment. 

“I was ready to storm the palace.” Athos states releasing him. Aramis has not doubt he would have. 

“Well, I am here now and you have a beautiful family.”

Athos peers at him. “No judgement?”

Aramis shakes his head. “Never. You are happy and that’s all that matters.You deserve happiness, brother.”

Athos smiles and looks past him to where Constance and D’artagnan are standing, arms around each other watching. 

“They work to show me that every day, and every day I believe it a little bit more.” 

Aramis can feel the love flowing between the three, tangible in the air and aches with want. This is what he wants. Family and a love so strong it can be felt.

“Come. We have a room prepared for you. Wash the road off you and join us for supper. I want to hear all about court.”

Athos pulls him towards the house. 

“Lair. You hate court.” Aramis says wryly. 

Athos shrugs. “Guilty. But I love you. Come, tell us of your diplomatic glory.” 

The household is controlled chaos and Aramis is amused to find that the children have wrapped D’artagnan and Athos, both men feared for the prowess in battle, around their fingers. The children use Papa for D’artagnan and Father for Athos and it is as natural as breathing. Constance is a loving displanianarin and Aramis snorts when she threatens to take away D’artagnan’s dessert and then does so when he refuses to eat the peas on his plate. 

The famed leader of the Musketeers, bane of Spain, pouts like his children and Aramis is so lucky for these people in his life. 

That night after the children are in bed they settle down in a parlor in front of the fire, with glasses of the brandy Aramis brought. Aramis in an armchair, and D’artagnan and Constance cuddling on either side of Athos. Aramis feels honored to witness such causal affection between them. 

“So, when did this happen?” He gestures at them. He doesn’t think anything was going on while they were all musketeers though he had occasionally wondered about Athos and D’artagnan. 

“Not long after they came to live here. I thought I was hiding how desperately I wanted to be a part of them, and thought I was content to just have them here under my roof but they approached me and well, it worked out.” Athos runs a hand through D’artagnan’s hair. 

“Approached you, he says.” Constance snickers. “More like cornered you bathing and practically forced you into bed.”

D'artagnan nods and curls a hand over Athos’s thigh. “It’s an ongoing process but we make it work.”

Athos flushes and turns back to Aramis. Aramis is glad his friend has allowed himself to be loved. 

“What is the shadow that you carry with you my friend, for I could see it weighing you down from a league away?”

Aramis shrugs. “A couple days ago I realized how lonely I have been and how long it had been since I had been a part of something. My lover has taken a new lover and I hadn’t even noticed.” He knew that they knew who his lover had been but it is best to be circumspect.

“I realized I had lost what it meant to be me.”

Athos stares at him. “We left you alone because we thought you were happy. Our mistake and we’ll fix it now. Lay down your troubles and let us help you.”

“Hear, hear.” Constance adds. D’artagnan just smiles a lazy smile, almost asleep from Athos stroking his hair. 

Aramis stays for two weeks and when he leaves he feels lighter and more himself then he has felt in years. He and Athos fence every morning and he is ashamed that the older man can still put him in the dirt. He can hold his own a little better by the end of his visit and is determined to spar regularly going forward. 

He has fallen in love with the children, and spends hours reading to, playing with and teaching them. They following him around like ducklings and he feels joy every time they call him ‘Uncle’. 

He is struck, one day towards the end of his visit, by the thought that he could have a life here. He doesn't quite fit but he knows that were he to wish it, Athos, D’artagnan and Constance would welcome him with open arms. 

He is tempted, sorely, but he rides out anyway. Two weeks with their children has made him yearn to spend time with his own. He sets out to Saint Germain, leaving behind promises to visit and write. 

It’s a day’s ride to Saint-Germain-en-Laye and he spends in quiet contemplation, almost in prayer. He doesn’t know what to expect from Porthos and he doesn’t know what to expect from Philippe. Philippe is 8 now and Aramis has only ever seen him from afar since Philippe grew out of toddler stage. Anne has spent years ignoring thim except for when she fancies that he is a daughter and presents him to the court in gowns. He wonders what Philippe is like, and finds that he is looking forward to finding out. It doesn’t matter if he is Aramis’ blood, he will love him regardless. He wonders that it has taken this long to come to that conclusion but he is there now. 

One of the benefits to being First Minister is he can show up at the Chateau at Saint Germain and no one questions him. Servants take his horses and he is escorted inside. 

“The prince is currently practicing fencing in the south garden.” The housekeeper tells him. 

“Very well.” Aramis nods and makes his way there. Nerves race through him and he breathes steadily. The sight that greets him when he steps out onto the balcony feels him with such wistful desire that it almost sends him to his knees. 

There on the lawn is Porthos, strong and tall and perfect. His hair is peppered with grey and his face carries more lines but he is still as handsome as ever. He is leading a little boy dressed in a blue musketeer’s coat through basic fencing patterns. There, everything Aramis wants out of life in one tableau. Aramis forces himself to breathe as Philippe completes a complicated pass.

“Well done, Highness. We’ll make a fine soldier of you, yet. Now remember, what it’s the first rule of soldiering?”

Philippe grins “Staying alive!”

Porthos pats him on the shoulder. “Just so. That’s enough fencing for today and I think we have a visitor.” The two of them turn to face Aramis. 

Of course Porthos knew he was there. Aramis smiles and bows. He takes a moment to study Philippe’s face. There in his face is the confirmation Anne refused to give him and that he had decided that he no longer needed. The boy is pale like the queen and has her light eyes but his dark hair and cheekbones are all Aramis. Louis may look entirely like Anne but Philippe looks like Aramis. His heart aches at the sight and he thanks God that Louis XIII had been dark haired. 

“Greetings, Highness. We met before but you were very young, I am the First Minster, Aramis d’Herblay.”

Philippe’s face lit up and he interupts. “Oh! Aramis, like the musketeer from your stories?” he turned to Porthos. 

Porthos grins down at him. “The very same.”

Philippe turns back to Aramis, big grin on his face and Aramis melts. He understands know how Athos and D’artagnan can be s wrapped around their children’s fingers.

“Is it true that you once held off 100 men to protect the Queen from death?” Philippe asks, eagerly.

Aramis smiles, wryly. “It wasn’t 100 and I wasn’t alone, but, yes, I protected the Queen.” 

Philippe jumps a little in excitement. “And can you really hit a bullseye every time you fire?”

Aramis is about to answer when Porthos clears his throat. “Highness, I believe it is time to dress for dinner. I believe the first minister will be here for some time. Plenty of time for stories.”

Philippe frowns. “Very well.” And trudges into the palace, looking back every so often. 

Aramis turns to Porthos who shakes his head silently and leads him around the gardens to the barracks. 

He leads Aramis into a small room and locks the door. 

“This is my office. We’ll have privacy here.” Porthos says and holds opens his arms. 

Aramis falls into them and this, this is what he has been missing. He buries his nose into Porthos’ chest and inhales deeply. Porthos smells like leather, horse and home. He leans his weight into the other man. He has been strong for so long without realizing it. 

“Oh my poor Aramis. What has she done to you? What have you done to you?” Porthos whispers into his ear and runs a hand down his back as if looking for injuries. 

“I’m okay, I promise. Just so happy to see you.” Aramis can’t bring himself to let go and Porthos doesn’t pull away. 

There are conversations that need to be had, logistics that need to be worked out, but Aramis knows that he will never go back to being First Minister, that he can have the life he wanted here, with Porthos and Philippe. 

He is home. 

 

A Fortnight Later:

“Dear Athos,  
I’m sure by now you have heard of my decision to formally retire as First Minister. Cardinal Mazarin will be a fine replacement for me. The Queen has graciously allowed me to take over the Duke of Anjou’s education. I find Philippe to be a willing and capable pupil. I have moved to Saint Germain full time and while the King has settled a generous pension on me for all my years of service I find that it is prudent to economize. To that end I have taken to sharing rooms with Porthos. It is nice to have company at night, to share a bottle or two of wine, though I am somewhat displeased to report that he still snores like a donkey. I hereby invite you and your family to visit us at your convenience. It will do Philippe good to be around other children and us to be around our friends. Porthos extends his salutations.

We hope to see you soon,

Aramis”

Athos finishes reading out loud and sets his arm down lightly on the warm body curled into his right side. D’artagnan glares but doesn’t move away from where his head lay pillowed on Athos’ chest.

“It seems I was correct. They are together, again.” Athos states, smoothing down D’artagnan’s hair. 

“It doesn’t say that!” D’artagnan half heartedly protests. 

Constance snorts from where she sits propped against D’artagnan’s back, mending. “He writes that they are sharing rooms, Porthos still snores and that ‘we’ hope to see you soon. They are well and truly together.”

D’artagnan wrinkles his nose and sighs. He isn’t actually annoyed that his friends are back together. “Damn Porthos’ willpower. I thought for sure it would take another trip.” He pauses and askes seriously. “Do you think it will last, this time?”

Athos leans over and places the letter to the side. “I think Aramis has well and truly grown up, finally. But, if it doesn’t last, we will be there for them like we were last time.” He leans down to kiss D’artagnan. “Meanwhile, you, my love, owe me two caskets of wine.” D’artagnan nuzzles up. 

“I’m sure we can come up with some sort of trade.” He whispers, trailing kisses up Athos’s chest and neck.

“Hm, I don’t know. The owner of my favorite vintage is not known for making deals.” Athos drawls. 

D’artagnan grins, smugly. “I can be very very, persuasive.” He says between kisses. 

“PAPA, ALEXANDRE PULLED MY HAIR!” Alaria’s voice beaks the intimate moment from outside the door. 

D’artagnan groans and rests his head back on Athos’ chest for a moment. 

“I’ll go.” Constance says, already moving to the side. 

“No, its fine. She called for me.” D’artagnan slides off the bed and walks to the door. He pauses before opening and looks back at Athos and Constance who are now cuddling, mending discarded. He hopes that Aramis and Porthos can find even half of his happiness. 

“PAPA!” Alaria screeches. 

D’artagnan grins at his lovers and throws open the door. “Yes, my dears?”

**Author's Note:**

> Constance and D'artagnan, when talking about getting Athos to join them, talk about how they had to corner him to get him to see that they really did want him with them and that they practically had to force him into bed. They didn't really, Athos desperately wanted to join them but he didn't believe that they would want him or that he was worthy. I just wanted to tag and explain just in case. If I can get my muses to agree this will be it's own story.


End file.
